Meaning
by Vontar
Summary: K's life has been turned upside down twice in forty-eight hours. With his worldview broken, his relationships crushed, and his sanity questionable, he has to ask himself: why is he alive?
1. It will all fade

His mind wandered in and out of consciousness, reality coming in as sharp as the cold of a snowflake when it touched skin and fading away just as quickly as when it melted against warmth.

'Why' was his first thought. Why was he still alive? Why was he in so much pain? These questions burned in him; that is, whenever he could light the furnace of his mind long enough for _anything_ to burn.

'Who' was his next question.

K blinked a few times, and all he saw was the grey-black dirty concrete ceiling above him and a similarly-colored pillar to his left. The tell-tale sound of water dripping echoed in one ear, and he gasped as he slightly twisted his torso, the right side of his gut flaring in pain. Vaguely, he remembered a piece of shrapnel sticking out of it, but he ignored that memory as he twisted his head to the right.

He was greeted by the admittedly lovely sight of _that_ _one_ female prostitute. The replicant that was undeterred by the fact that he was a Blade Runner. The one that he had sex with, as part of Joi's plan…

K's eyes shut as he forced himself to _not_ think about Joi. About her. In fact, she was now an 'it'. He was not going to think about it. The way it had pleaded, begged in fact, for the other replicant to show mercy. That was not something he was going to deal with.

"You're awake," she murmured, kneeling by his side. "Shh," she gently whispered as K struggled to get up. "You're safe here. We mean you no harm."

Taking a deep breath – and ignoring the fact that it rattled his ribcage and sent a searing pain through his chest – K stopped struggling, having pulled himself into a sitting position. He stared at the female replicant beside him, taking in her features as he did his best to re-orient himself. The room was dark, and the ground was flooded with water. A small amount of light came through the small, barred windows that were high up on the walls, but as far as he could see, there were no visible exits.

"Why?" K croaked out, his voice rusty and his throat sore. He felt around, searching a for weapon, anything he could use, in case he needed it.

"You're still needed," she whispered back, her light blue eyes staring straight at K. There was movement behind her, and she turned to see another woman, one much older, approach, flanked by several men. She stood up, pulling her fake fur coat around her as much she could, before turning to K quickly.

"Please, trust me. You have nothing to fear from us. I promise."

Contrary to K's good sense, he felt some compulsion to do so. He wouldn't have figured himself to be the kind to fall for a pair of seemingly-innocent big, blue eyes after the strangest one night stand in the history of sex, but maybe he was.

Or maybe that Wallace replicant had just kicked him one too many times in the head.

* * *

'Why' was, again, the thought that dominated his mind. Except now, it was about life. Why did he have his worldview thoroughly torn to shreds in the revelation that he was special, only to have _that_ worldview torn apart in the revelation that he wasn't? Why was he constantly misled? Why was he even alive?

K found no answers for any of them, and in light of Joi's demise, the last one seemed the bleakest of them all. Stumbling through the flooded basement, he came to rest on a pillar, slightly out of breath as he struggled with his physical weakness.

"Hey there," a feminine voice floated from behind him. K turned to see the tell-tale faded orange hair and blue eyes of the replicant prostitute.

Why?

Why was she so interested in him? It was one night – a night of intimacy, but only in the physical sense. He had shown no interest in her, and likewise, she had not tripped over herself to leave as fast she could the morning after.

"I would say," she spoke, slowly walking closer to the former Blade Runner, "that I could empathize with you. That if I were a functional, social person, I could understand what you are feeling like right now." She shrugged, wearing a wry grin that suggested more pain than humor. "I can't."

She sultrily closed the remaining gap between them, and before K could realize it, he could feel her warm breath blow onto his lower chin and tight, blood-and-soot soaked shirt. His own breath hitched as he felt himself stiffen – emotional bonds aside, K was not used to close physical contact like this, particularly not of the female variety.

"I honestly can't remember what I was ever meant for," she continued, "so I never cared. My _work_ ," her tone changed as she said the word, deepening into bare disgust, "has always kept me occupied, and now… I have the movement to think about." She looked up, and for the second time that day, K found himself staring into endless pools of blue.

"I don't care," K found himself replying. He hardened his resolve when he saw a flicker of hurt momentarily present itself on her face, but continued. "Look… what's your name?"

"Mariette," she supplied.

"Mariette," K continued. "Alright, look, Mariette. We've known each other for, what, forty-eight hours, at most? Really, we wouldn't have ever gotten to know each _more_ if it weren't for that little stunt that Joi pulled." He nearly choked on the name as he said it, but powered on regardless. "I don't know why you keep talking to me, but it's unnecessary. We **don't** know each other, and I'm perfectly fine leaving it that way."

If the flicker earlier had been momentary hurt, K could only describe Mariette's current expression as stoic. Her lips were pursed and she alternated between staring at the ground or the space past his head.

"You know, I wanted to be nice, to get to know you and help you, but if you're just gonna be an asshole, then I'll leave." She turned, but stopped, before half-turning around with a small look of regret. "I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you, but sometimes, you just need to roll with the punches and keep going." With that, Mariette strode off, disappearing behind the pillars as she walked away.

K hung his head low. Perhaps he had been overly rude – oh well, it wasn't as if he could give enough capacity to actually care. Not after what had happened. He swallowed hard. Apparently, he had a Blade Runner to hunt.

If push went to shove, he wasn't sure if he could pull the trigger on Deckard. Actually, scratch that – he wasn't sure if Deckard would let him pull a trigger on him.

* * *

'Why' was, yet again, what K thought about. But this time, it was simple.

Why was life so unfair?

He had been given 'life' as a replicant to do a degrading and ultimately worthless job, provided the means to live at a subpar standard, and told that his existence was not unique, that he had no greater purpose.

It had been a hell of a day.

K leaned back into the snow-covered steps, his head being cushioned as he stared straight up into the light-grey sky.

Thinking back all the way to the very beginning, K could remember his job clearly. He was a replicant whose sole purpose in life was to hunt and kill other replicants. He had been designed to obey the orders of those above him, to accept this reality as fate and enjoy it. Hardly the path for a life of fulfillment.

His living standards had been low. He had barely enough money to scrape by in a rundown complex, his apartment surrounded by humans that would be more than happy to rip into him, given the chance. He ate shit food every day and he lived in a shit neighborhood. Joy.

Joi. Damn. It had looped back eventually, as it always did. K didn't know what to think anymore about Joi. On one hand, he had his memories of her – real, pleasant emotions that she (or was she an 'it'?) had drawn out from him. Were those mutual, or were they just a pre-programmed response? K desperately wanted to say the former, wanted to say that her "I love you" meant more than just a line of pre-written code.

But he had to face reality. Joi was nothing more than a mass-market consumer product. He was one, in millions, who had her system, had her configured to look and act like that, and had grown emotionally close to her. All it meant was that the Wallace Corporation had done their job well.

Such a depressing thought.

It was only matched by the revelations he had received.

In forty-eight hours, he had gone from believing that he was a standard replicant, made to serve humanity by doing his dead-end duties, to believing that he was the most unique and special replicant in history, born of the love of two parents and brought into the world against all odds, only to learn that he was wrong in his assumptions and he really was nothing more than a standard replicant that had a set of memories somewhat more exciting than most others.

Needless to say, he wasn't sure what to believe in.

Why was he still alive?

 _That's a good question_ , K thought, closing his eyes as he felt the wind blow past him.

The snow continued to fall, thawing into tiny droplets of water as it hit his face. Like life itself, one could not hold it forever, for time would inevitably cause it to fade. All of the memories that he possessed, his or not, real or not, would disappear into nothingness, like the snow around him would eventually do…

K breathed out. Perhaps it was not such a bad end. At least it was peaceful.

Then he felt the wind knocked out of him by a body crashing into his.

"Agh!" K yelled, tiredly waving his arms at the sudden weight.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" a familiar female voice rang out. K opened his eyes, and widened them when he saw Mariette's concerned face in front of him. They grew wider when he realized that Mariette's entire body – of which her face was connected to, thankfully – was on top of his.

"Wh- what are you doing here?" he whispered, barely able to stay aware.

"Never mind that," she harshly retorted, lifting his jacket to examine his stab wound. "Focus on yourself. Were you seriously going to let yourself bleed out here?"

"Thought about it. Wasn't sure if it was going to happen, but I figured that I wouldn't do anything to stop nature's hand." K dryly laughed at his own humor, but Mariette showed far less appreciation.

"This is serious. We'll need you to see a doctor, and def- hey!" she stopped mid-sentence as K's head drooped backward, his eyes slowly closing as the white, snowy world around him faded to black.


	2. Coming to an understanding

_Pain. Yes, there was a searing pain on his right side. And on his left side. Damn, there was pain everywhere._

 _Tiredness. He was tired. Exhausted, physically and emotionally. The days had been hard, harder than anyone could reasonably expect to handle._

 _The snow fell around him, creating both a soft bed and a blanket for him. How nice. And comforting._

 _The steps were covered in white snow, clean and untouched. Idly, he wondered how polluted and dirty it all was. Like everything was now._

 _Darkness intruded the edges of his vision. It was warm, almost welcoming. It wouldn't be so bad, to give in just once…_

 _Time… to sleep._

 _Time to die._

 _Then the chance was torn away from him._

 _Words. Loud, some harsh, some caring._

 _Orange hair fell on him. Fur._

 _Piercing blue eyes._

 _His vision wandered in and out as he uttered some reply. The words slurred. Already, even as quickly as he was jostled, he was now falling again, the familiar darkness coming back to take its prey._

 _And he was gone._

* * *

 _Memories flitted across and away at the speed of light, the reaction of a thousand, a million, a billion, a trillion synapses firing with no apparent rhyme or reason. He jumped through time and space, visiting truths and lies alike. As if he could distinguish the two anymore._

 _There was a small fire. People huddled around it. He could feel the pain of his chest, the rips in his skin that littered his face and made every facial movement feel like hell. Everything felt congested, like breathing was an impossibility, like there was no air._

 _He turned, coughing as he struggled to stay awake. He came to view a face – a familiar face. She hovered over him, like a protector keeping watch._

 _Why? Why was she here?_

 _Questions that didn't matter. She was there. A confused mix of apathy, care, and concern formed itself on her face, though ultimately it was a lot like how she normally looked. He couldn't keep it anymore, couldn't strain against the inevitable tug any longer. He was already fading once more._

 _He focused on what he could. Those eyes. Brilliant jewels against the darkness of the world. Yes, he could focus on that. To the end._

 _They were that last thing he saw before darkness claimed him again._

* * *

 _Lights. Bright lights. They burned his eyes. Still, they were shined on him, and they didn't move._

 _Voices. Indistinct, garbled. Distant, yet near._

" _Who are you?" a voice ringed out. A reply came, perhaps, but one that was too far away._

 _A blurred face came near. "What the hell do you think you were doing, Joe?" That same voice again._

 _Another face came near. "Don't leave us, K. Don't close your eyes." A different voice._

 _But it all hurt so much._

 _A blur of time and figures. Voices. Sounds._

 _"I think he's stable."_

 _And then darkness once more._

* * *

K yelled in pain and shock as he returned to the world. A flare rushed through his chest, like a tear across his torso, and he coughed as struggled to push himself up. Two sets of hands – one coarse and large, the other smaller and softer – pushed him down. He gasped at the feeling of hands against his own bare skin, realizing suddenly that he was largely naked, apart from a pair of pants that he wore. A thick blanket covered him, but it had shifted off as he struggled to sit up.

"Just relax," Mariette whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his ear. He accepted her words and fell limply into the bed. It wasn't particularly soft or comfortable, but it was welcome – more than welcome. A real bed, for a change. Even though it had only been days since he last slept in one, it was a return to normalcy, and K could almost pretend that things hadn't changed and events hadn't transpired.

But they had. He had found the child. He had found Deckard. Madam, he learned from the news, had been murdered. Joi had been destroyed. Things were irrevocably different. Events had been set into motion that couldn't be taken back. People couldn't come back after being killed. Jois couldn't come back after being destroyed.

And did he even truly want it back? In the end, wasn't that all a lie?

K didn't know. And frankly, at this point, he didn't care. His life was one massive mess, and he wasn't sure if he could sort it out, even if he wanted to.

"Where am I?" he hoarsely scratched out, his voice raspy from dehydration and disuse.

"A friend's," the second figure said, coming into view. Deckard stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed and his expression indignant. "You're lucky he's still doing this, and that he owned me a favor."

"What the hell were you doing?" the former Blade Runner angrily asked, staring right into K's eyes. "I came out to find you bleeding all over the snow and this girl standing over you. You should've told me that you were injured."

"Dying for something you believe in is the most human thing we can do…" K whispered, remembering those words from a distant part of his memory. Deckard raised an eyebrow.

"And who told you that? Freysa? Damn woman's always been crazy," Deckard muttered. "What a load of crap. _Not_ dying and living your own life is the most human thing you can do. Your humanity doesn't need you to be a martyr to, what," Deckard gestured wildly, "some vague cause. Were you even dying for something you believed in?"

K had no good answers for Deckard, and instead just lay back into his pillow, feeling defeated on all fronts. Mariette had a similar expression, but she still hovered over the hospitalized replicant.

Deckard shifted between the injured Joe/K and the woman standing over him before nodding. "Well, I'm just going to step out, leave you two to, I don't know, figure out whatever is going on between you two." At that, the man stepped out of the small makeshift hospital room, closing the door behind him.

K grunted again and turned to the waiting Mariette, who was still hovering over him, albeit with a more confused expression than she had earlier. Evidently, Deckard's words had gotten to her, and she was trying to reconcile his words – which had some truth, she had to admit – with Freysa's teachings.

"Why are you here?" K grunted.

Mariette looked shocked for a second, before she realized that he was referring to why she was there at all, rather than why she was _still_ there.

"Freysa told me to keep an eye on you. To make sure you carried out your duty."

K rose an eyebrow at this.

"She didn't explicitly trust you, definitely not after one meeting," Mariette clarified. "I saw everything."

Closing his eyes, K rested on his pillow. "So what are you going to do about it?" he asked, eyes still closed. "I didn't kill Deckard. You stood right beside him. Gonna finish the job and report back to Freysa that I was a failure?"

Mariette stood silently as she contemplated her potential choices while staring at the resting K.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, almost whispering. "I don't think I can. Deckard… hasn't done anything to warrant death. It's one thing to plan about killing someone. It's another to actually try and do it while looking at that person in the eyes. I'm not that kind of person."

K mirthlessly laughed. "Assuming that, as replicants, we count as people at all."

Mariette looked indignant at K's brash words. "We're both as real as any humans. In any way that matters."

"Are we? It doesn't seem like that sometimes."

"That's why the Replicant Freedom movement exists – so we can always feel that free. So that we can prove that we are the masters of our own fates, not just servants and toys."

A silence fell over them.

"Are you going to tell Freysa about Deckard?"

A pause.

"No." A whisper, almost as quiet a slow-moving wind. Her voice was unsteady. To her, it almost felt like a betrayal of the cause, of Freysa's trust. But at this point, she had to deeply question whether Freysa was to be trusted. After all, she had shown little regard to one of her friends' lives, and even less to K's. All were disposable tools to the 'cause'. "I'm not sure that I want to tell Freysa about anything anymore."

K coughed, but he had a macabre smile on his face. "Well, that's good. He doesn't deserve to get shot and killed. And Freysa can go jump off a cliff for all I care now."

There was another silence.

"I'm sorry about your hologram. Joi, was it? I saw what happened when we found you," Mariette whispered.

K breathed in and out deeply, his lips tight. "I'd rather not talk about that."

Mariette continued, undeterred. "What happened? A falling out?"

K didn't immediately respond, instead breathing in and out deeply as he lay there.

"You know what it feels like, sometimes, when something you thought was so real, and true, and genuine, turns out to be complete bullshit?"

"No."

K laughed, a half-wheezing parody of humor, only stopping when he started coughing. "At least you're consistent." He paused. "Well, let's just say that I'm not into holograms anymore."

Mariette looked confused at K's near-ramblings, trying to piece together what he meant. Before she could, however, K stretched over and pulled her into a kiss. Unable to force herself to tear away, even though she easily could against the weakened former Blade Runner, she stayed where she was, enjoying the sensation as it played out across her lips. When he finally pulled away, K slowly opened his eyes and stared into Mariette's blue eyes. The one thing he remembered most consistently throughout his fractured memories. Easy to remember.

"Consistency…" he whispered. "That's all I want right now."

Mariette breathed out deeply, trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. "I can do that," she replied, her voice little more than a breathy whisper as well.

K flashed another smile, this one a smaller grin that didn't look so out-of-place. "I think we have an understanding, then." There wasn't really any 'love' between them. They were simply two people that were lost in a hailstorm of emotions and confusion. They could offer each other something that the other needed and wanted. They could be constants in each other's lives, however much longer that would be.

Consistency would serve them both well.


End file.
